Fujishiro Kotone Is a Meanie

In elite society, out-groups were created naturally. The high always preyed on the low. Our Academy took the superficialness out of this natural process and declared the marked-ones to be eaten.

In ordinary situations, school systems emphasized supporting weaker students rather than holding them back, achieved through workgroups, cram schools, and remediation. However, offering assistance to students was always a role of adults, rather than a peer-to-peer expectation. At this prestigious Academy especially, everyone shuns association with peers labeled as liabilities.

Even Kotone’s twisted friend group had targeted girls marked with blue necklaces. Their ability to team up together to face the difficulties of reality had really gotten under her skin.

“Will you go out with me?”

This was my reward last year, delivered in the corridor at Tokyo’s Strategic Leadership Academy.

The wish came from one of the two underclassmen I’d protected, after completely dismantling Kotone’s group. First-years, both of them. It appeared one had developed a crush.

“I know you’re a man of few words, but, but, you helped me. And I think maybe you’re waiting for a special someone to really connect with… I’d love it if that person could be me.”

I wasn’t a man of few words. I was a man of many words, just not the kind that made it out alive. They piled up inside me like unwashed dishes: excuses, cautions, conclusions, everything I’d rehearse and never serve. I wasn’t waiting for anyone to pull them out of me, especially when I’d already sealed the container and slapped on a label myself: Keep Closed.

I was stunned, self-disgusted, grateful, and had the presence of mind to kindly reject my underclassman as best I could.

It was soon thereafter that Kotone approached me. Also, a first-year. It appeared that she wanted me to tutor her.

Tutor her?

“Sorry, I’m busy with my family’s chocolaterie.”

“You still owe me, y’know,” Her chin tilted, her expression annoyingly calm. “I got bruises. Real ones. Some of them are still shaped like fingers.”

I didn’t look up from my notes. “No one touched you.”

“Ohhh?” Her lashes fluttered in crooning innocence. “So that wasn’t your hand clamping down on my thigh when I tried to leave? I must’ve hallucinated the part where you ran full-on hero mode and scooped up Hara-chii like a bride at her reception? And her little gasp when you did it? Sickening.”

My expression hardened. “It was an emergency.”

“Sure. Emergency double groping,” she said brightly. “You gonna ‘rescue’ her again this Friday? I promised I’d stop, but I can make sure the principal gets a copy of the whole replay, unless you think maybe tutoring me is a better use of your time.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

Her lips curved sweetly. “What do you think, Senpai?”

Wow! That really pissed me off! I’d consider snapping your pinky! ★

Kotone’s grades weren’t great. At our Academy, grades were mostly decorative, an accessory you wore if it matched your brand. Students advanced year by year regardless of grades, and the pipeline into the college made academic consequences softer. For most of them, GPA was an extra trophy to be acquired.

I found Kotone’s request odd. It was out of nowhere and made no sense to me. Why would she ask me of all people, when as far as I knew, she had enough funds to hire a whole institution’s worth of private tutors?

“It’s complicated.”

Out of curiosity, and to assure she wouldn’t return to troubling the girl who had a crush on me, I accepted.

She was an idiot. Sharp mouthed, but a lovable one that was easy to shut down.

On one of our study days, I cooked a shared dinner. Kotone was astounded by the taste. I revealed myself as the man behind the growing channel ‘MidnightChef,’ and she began inviting me to cook at her estate.

The question as to why she had approached tutors was answered quickly when I learned about her domestic situation.

Kotone was worried she could be ousted from her family by her mother at any time. If that happened, the consequences toward her fashionista career were uncertain. If her family denounced her during her time at the Academy, she would have to transfer high school and then continue to a regular college. So, Kotone wasn’t after grades as much as she was after honing her intellect for the possibility of taking entrance exams.

As for why she chose me as her tutor and not a star-student like Saionji Wakami, it was probably because she wanted to keep an eye on me after I promised I wouldn't report her bullying so much as if she stopped immediately. She was testing my trustworthiness, though she’d never say. As we gradually learned more about each other, this evolved into wanting to keep eyes on each other for longer.

Good looks were an innate talent. Research showed that better looking people had a tendency to obtain higher salaries. It was one of the best gifts to be born with. I had always thought this to be the truth. But lately, I wasn't too sure.

“Beauty can’t save you from everything, the same as it doesn’t save the hostess from shady glances of misplaced empathetic misfortune.” I muttered in Kotone’s kitchen, mostly to myself. “Beauty is nothing but superficiality.”

“Ehh. So, that’s the philosophy behind your tragic, lonely little no-face cooking videos?” She hummed, a lazy smirk pulling at her lips. “The mysterious, faceless chef who doesn’t want to be loved for his beautiful cheekbones. How noble.”

I didn’t answer. No point. She was already rolling.

“‘Beauty can’t save you,’” she quoted, dropping her voice into a low, silky imitation of my own. “God, you sound like a sad anime protagonist who just lost to his love rival.”

“I told you–”

“I heard what you told me.” She bypassed my protest, leaning in across the marble counter and invading my personal space. “You want people to focus on your food instead of your face. But here’s the thing, Senpai: I think you’re misplacing looks too high on the priority list. You could look like a zombie and fans would still watch your videos.”

“And why is that?”

“Your voice! How lucky. I’ve monopolized yet another thing you rarely give anyone else.”

Kotone was dumb, but I held absolute certainty that she could see, as if looking through a telescope, the distinct and vivid colors of my mind.

“You’re not getting average test grades on purpose, are you?” I prodded, catching her gaze. “Recently, perhaps?”

“Why would I do that?”

I didn’t push. I simply watched her sip the soup I made like it was a love letter to myself. I thought I might stay a bit longer than usual.